


Communion [kəˈmjuːnjən]

by Ischa



Series: Selfish love [2]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Secrets, Unresolved Sexual Tension, incest (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about secrets Damon is keeping.<br/>Set in the same verse as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/335654">Take a bite (of my heart)</a></p><p>  <i>“What do you want to hear? That I needed you? That I cursed your fucking existence?”</i><br/><i>“What's the truth?”</i><br/><i>“Both. God, Damon. Both. Always and forever.” Stefan sounds between matter of fact and utterly defeated.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Communion [kəˈmjuːnjən]

**Author's Note:**

> beta by theendermen.

~1~  
 _The act or an instance of sharing, as of thoughts or feelings._

Living, surviving, remembering: it's all a curse at times. Damon hasn't forgotten a single second since he was turned and not much before that time either. Everything he's ever said to the contrary has been a filthy lie. Some people might even suspect it by now.  
Not that he cares – much. Secrets are there to be told after all. Maybe not his own, but generally that rule applies.  
He's keeping a fuck-load of secrets. Might be one reason why he's a functional alcoholic.  
He pours another glass of the good stuff, keeping his page marked with a finger, when Stefan waltzes in. 

“Are you reading one of my old diaries?” 

At least he isn't commenting on Damon lounging in his favourite chair in the only room that truly feels like home, or whatever. You have to be grateful for small mercies these days.  
“It's the most amusing stuff we have right now on our bookshelf.” 

“Why aren't you-”

“The power's out. Hence the atmospheric lightning,” Damon interrupts, turning a page. His iPod died on him hours ago, too. He feels nearly like a caveman. 

“I didn't realise,” Stefan says, crossing the room to sit on the floor; back against the bed. He's barefoot again. 

“Because you're a vampire,” Damon answers. 

“You don't need the candles to see either,” Stefan says. 

“But I like them. They're so pretty and romantic and all that jazz,” Damon replies. “You wrote horrible poetry when you were sad.” 

“I was sad all the time,” Stefan says lightly. 

“Ah, not true. Liar. You were angry a lot too. Murderous even. I nearly wish I hadn't abandoned you back then.” 

“I might have killed you.” 

“No,” Damon answers. He isn't joking. He just knows that. Stefan couldn't. 

“What year is that anyway?” Stefan asks with a nod to the book. 

“What does it matter? Got your poetry better after you detoxed?” 

“I think it got worse. I was feeling hungry and on edge. Life was flat. There was a lack of flavour,” Stefan admits. 

It makes Damon look up from the diary and turn a bit to look at his brother. “I need to find that and put it aside for a rainy day. To sob in style and wallow in my misery through yours.” 

“Funny,” Stefan answers. 

“I have my moments.” 

“Why are you up here anyway?” Stefan asks. 

Damon was hoping it wouldn't come up, but whatever, it's not like he's going to tell the truth. “I like to invade your space.” The truth is much simpler. This is the only room that didn't change much. It's like coming home should always feel. This room is home to Damon. But that's obviously too touchy feely to ever be spoken out loud. Stefan doesn't need to know. Once upon a time it used to be a given. Once upon Stefan knew these things about Damon. The language they're speaking isn't the same anymore. “ _Deep is my longing, deep is despair_ \- now that isn't half bad,” Damon says and a second later the diary is snatched from his hands. He didn't think Stefan would. He usually doesn't care if Damon reads his diaries. Doesn't care if he reads them out loud either, doesn't care if he comments on all the vampire angst that would've made Edward proud.  
Stefan is at the door. His fingers white around the bones, because he's holding onto it so hard. Damon smiles.  
“Ah...it's obsessive, creepy _love poetry_ ,” he says. He doesn't get up. “You know I don't care much about the dead girls you were crushing on before you killed them by ripping their heads off, right?” 

“I didn't write names down,” Stefan answers. There is a strain to his voice. He's trying for casual, but he's not fooling Damon. 

“In your diary,” Damon corrects. 

“Right.” 

Damon shrugs. “You gonna keep that?” 

“Yeah. If you just could choose another one of my deeply personal journals?” 

“Sure,” he answers, getting up and to the bookshelf, “what was a good year? Any recommendations?” 

“They're all pretty much the same, I think. The three big M's: Misery, murder, moping.” 

Damon laughs. His brother is lighting up on the whole business – but there is nothing else left, except fighting and they had done that already. The silent treatment lasted decades. Damon prefers talking. They used to talk a lot when they were human. Even with Katherine – before she abandoned them to be an evil bitch somewhere else.  
“Did you write about me?” he asks, running a finger over the backs of the books. No dust. Not surprising. 

“Of course, you know that. It was all about how you need to see the light of not killing the innocent humans and how I would help you if you could only-”

“No, before.” 

“Before what?” Stefan asks. He is still standing in the door. Hasn't come a bit closer. Is standing on the threshold like it's a line drawn with blood he dare not cross. And he's still alert. 

“Before Lexi, after I left.” He has no idea why it's important all of a sudden. But it is. 

“What do you want to hear? That I needed you? That I cursed your fucking existence?”

“What's the truth?” 

“Both. God, Damon. Both. Always and forever.” Stefan sounds between matter of fact and utterly defeated.

Damon is formulating something flippant to say when the lights switch on again and he's saved. Doesn't have to answer Stefan's desperate honesty with some of his own. “Good, I can charge my iPod or watch some porn online. Don't forget to put the candles out before you go to bed. We don't want to wake up as crispy chickens.” 

 

~2~  
 _association; fellowship_

It's really stupid how everyone is always listening to Stefan. Damon was never called something like The Ripper – all in capitals too. By all means, he should be considered the sane Salvatore here. Just proves that life is out to fuck him over.  
And meeting Katherine while he's out of town and on a bender (sometimes he just has to get away from Stefan and Elena) only drives that point home. Painfully like a stake.  
Damon doesn't hate other vampires as a rule, but they usually screw him over, so he's wary. It's the sane thing to do.  
Katherine screwed him over big time. More than once. The sex, though, was always good. But he can't be thinking about it now. 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she says. She's owning the bar. Long legs and short dress. She looks perfect. She always did.  
He shakes his head and raindrops go flying everywhere. It's freaking pouring outside. Maybe that's why she's here for a snack. He is here because he doesn't feel like trashing his car. And he needs a drink. She scoffs at him. “That dress costs more than-”

“I don't care. You can afford it.” He slides beside her on a stool and orders whisky, the good stuff. He takes the bottle; he can afford it too.  
He's always felt some kind of companionship with her, maybe because she sired him, maybe because of all the reasons he doesn't let himself think about. Maybe because she's one of the two people he's ever loved.  
When they're drunk enough they still kind of work. She gets a bit softer around the edges, and nostalgic. He doesn't know if the nostalgia is a good thing or not. He's just in that place where everything seems like a good idea if it leads to orgasms – no matter the cost. 

“Sometimes,” she says, “I miss us.” 

And he knows she doesn't mean him and her, but him, her and Stefan. Back then, at the beginning everything seemed so uncomplicated and what she wanted was good and – he cuts himself off. It makes him angry to think about it. But he believes her that she misses them. Damon misses them too. It was them against the world.  
“And still-” he starts before she cuts him off. 

“He couldn't have handled it, he would've left us if he knew,” she says and this is the first time he realises it's a lie. She's good at lying, but he's learned things over the decades. 

“He wouldn't have left me,” he answers and is surprised how sure his voice sounds. 

“He abandoned you the first chance he got,” she gives back. 

“I left him. I hated him so much. I should have hated you, but I thought you were dead.” He shrugs. 

She takes another swig from the bottle. “Outcome's the same. What do you think he would do if he knew?” It's not a threat, she's just entertaining a thought. 

“I have no idea, what with Elena.” He takes the bottle from her and takes a swig. They need to order another one, or two. 

She nods. “I don't like her much.” 

“You wouldn't.” 

“Don't even try,” she says and he hands her the bottle back. 

He doesn't. Is the thing. He doesn't have to with her. He only cares for Elena because Stefan does and Damon, well, Damon cares for Stefan and Katherine knows that. Always knew that.  
“Wanna find a motel room?” he asks. 

“Let me get more booze,” she answers. 

They aren't exactly friends or whatever, but they're tied together, wrapped tightly by the secret they're keeping.  
He asked her once why she didn't make him forget. She had answered because he could handle it, but he suspects that she needed someone else to know. Needed someone else to make it real. Needed someone to share all the memories with. 

 

~3~  
 _possession or sharing in common_

“Where have you been?!” 

“Hello to you too, dear brother,” Damon answers, throwing his jacket over the couch. 

“Damon-”

“What? What do you care?” 

“Things here-”

“You can handle this shit on your own. You handled shit on your own for decades,” Damon interrupts, sitting down on the coffee-table and staring into the fireplace. Only cold ash, it's too warm to have it burning. 

“That wasn't my choice,” Stefan bites out. 

“I was on a bender and made some bad decisions with even worse women.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“There were ever only two people I really loved, you know?” 

“Are you drunk?” Stefan asks carefully. 

Damon wonders if it's a real question, because when is he not? “Always.” 

“What happened?” 

“I went on a bender out of town, as you sure noticed, I switched off my phone too – don't bitch about it now. I met Katherine along the way. We had a moment.” He finishes and then: “I didn't stake her.” 

“Is that a-”

“No, we did fuck. I mean with a piece of wood in her ever cold heart.” Sometimes he wonders if he only tells Stefan these things so he won't tell him others. “I also trashed the car.”

“She always fucks you up, Damon,” Stefan answers. 

Damon laughs. “I think we're past that. I think we were past that when we were still human – I didn't realise it back then and you, well,” he shrugs. “There isn't much she can do anymore.” 

“Sometimes I want to kill her for what she's done to you,” Stefan says, stepping closer. He sits down on the carpet. His feet are bare again. The sound of Stefan's steps on the ancient floor always reminds him of times before. 

“What she did to us.” 

“No,” Stefan replies softly. “To you. She only made me believe I loved her. Once I found out I didn't it was over, but you. You left me for her.” 

“Sounds awfully like we broke up, brother.” 

Stefan blushes. He must have fed recently. “It felt final back then.” His fingers twitch on his side like he wants to reach out, but isn't sure what Damon would do if he gave in. Damon isn't sure either. Sometimes he feels too vulnerable, too exposed. He didn't use to feel that way around Stefan before they shared blood, saliva, Katherine, each other. And how Stefan looks now is no different to how he looked back then. Damned to be Damon's one truly sinful thing. Frozen in time: an eternal reminder of mistakes and love without bonds, and secrets. Deep, dark secrets that he sometimes feels like they're drowning him. 

“You didn't give up,” Damon says. 

“No. For purely selfish reasons, though. Living an eternity without you just wasn't an option.” 

“And you've got what you wanted. I'm back here.” 

“You are,” Stefan replies. Damon can feel the but in his bones. 

“I can't give you more!” Damon says sharply. 

“You won't.” It sounds final from Stefan's lips. And Damon really shouldn't be thinking about his brother's lips right now. 

“There's nothing else left. You've got the good, the bad, the ugly. You've got plenty of that.” 

“Damon-”

“You always make me want to kill something fluffy and innocent,” Damon interrupts. 

“Don't make this into a joke.” 

“It's really not.” 

“Who was that other person?” 

“What?” 

“The other person you ever loved, except Katherine?”

Some people remember after, some choose not to, some compulsions are too hard to shake off. The possibility of Stefan remembering wasn't even on his radar when he woke up a vampire. When he woke up and thought Katherine was dead. When he woke up immortal and all he wanted to do was die. It didn't matter after, for decades it didn't matter, because he was going through the motions and then he left Stefan again to become the monster they both were. He isn't so sure any more, if it isn't an issue. Right the fuck now.  
“Don't tell me if you're going to lie,” he says after a long silence. Damon feels a headache coming. It must be all the mental stress that makes him imagine things like migraines. “I had dreams after you left and before Lexi and I wrote 'I'm alright' over and over and over again into my journal like a crazy person.” 

Damon really shouldn't ask the next question. “What kind of dreams?” 

Stefan slings his arms around his knees and stares into the fireplace. “About us. Me, Katherine, you.” 

“You missed us. The unholy trinity that we were. She misses us too, sometimes. When she's drunk.” 

“What about you?” 

“What for god's sake do you want to hear?” 

“The truth. Or a variation of it you can live with.” 

“Lies I can live with. But you don't want to hear those.” 

“Damon,” Stefan says and Damon turns to him, grabs his chin so Stefan can't look away, so he can't look away either.  
He feels angry again and helpless. These feelings go hand in hand, feed each other and make him this thing. He wants to tell Stefan all the secrets living in the darkest parts of his mind: about how he wants to sink his fangs into Stefan's neck, how he wants to pin him down onto the floor, feel all of him, rub his body against Stefan's like they used to, tear pleasure out of him so intense it borders on pain and fall asleep on bloody sheets to do it all again when he wakes up.  
He doesn't. 

“I will give you what you've given me,” he says.  
He feels Stefan exhale slowly, feels all his brother's muscles tense like he's preparing himself for a blow. His fingers tighten as he leans in, just a bit. He can smell the blood on Stefan's breath. A bit stale. Blood-bags again. “ _Deep is my longing, deep is despair_.”

end


End file.
